


Desperately Wanting

by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bendemption, D23 Trailer Inspired, Dark Rey (Star Wars), Dark Reylo, Drabble Collection, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-TLJ, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Trailer, TRoS Spoilers, You'll be the one to turn, canonverse, episode IX speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard
Summary: Unconnected drabbles inspired by the D23 trailer, Reddit leaks, Twitter speculation, posters, and my own feverish and horny imagination.





	1. What Was I Thinking When I Let Go of You

_I am an American Dixie-cup drinker_

_I assassin down the avenue_

_I’m hiding out in the big city blinking_

_What was I thinking when I let go of you?_

_I am trying to break your heart._

-Wilco

It is everything he has ever wanted. His ship sails the night-sea sky without resistance. The Master’s presence is content in the back of his head. He is pleased with Kylo. Pleased at how he has prepared the Galaxy for his return.

As the _Finalizer_ slips from hyperspace, Kylo releases the bridge to the officer on deck. No opposing fleet awaits at this world. The Core has surrendered to the new Empire without a fight. 

“I’ll be in my quarters,” Kylo tells Mitaka. “Don’t disturb me unless the ship’s on fire.”

His tone informs the man that in that eventuality, Mitaka would also be set on fire.

He wanted this. The quick salutes of the Sith Troopers. The way they seamlessly fall back into formation as he passes. Their ready respect for him. His knights returned the Artifact, and the Artifact returned the Master. 

“Lady Ren is in your quarters,” the guard at the door tells him. 

This man is not one of the troops who returned with Kylo's knights. His face is too mobile, his thoughts too disorganized. Kylo can read his mind without any effort. Sense his emotions.

Lady Ren terrifies the guard. 

Good, Kylo should think. Fear is respect. Fear is deference. Fear is order.

Kylo can control himself better than this guard. His aura reflects no conflict when he palms the door panel to enter his chambers.

Inside, he smells the tang of metal and blood. Rey is training, learning to master the double-bladed weapon she now wields. 

Nearly half a dozen Stormtroopers lie in pieces at her feet alongside the wreckage of several combat droids.

As Kylo watches impassively, she guts the last man, her blade emerging from his back. He falls in a boneless heap. Rey’s chest heaves for a second before she clicks the weapon off and pushes back her hood. She seems at first to take no notice of Kylo's presence. 

“Why do you wear that stupid thing,” she says after a beat, turning seamlessly to sneer at Kylo's apparel. “You know I can see your mind. It looks ridiculous with all those cracks.”

Kylo doubts that this is entirely true. His face has always been transparent to those who know him well. His mind...less so. Palpatine has been with him his entire life, Rey for the past year. But perhaps neither of them can perceive exactly everything that he feels. 

Nonetheless, Kylo obediently removes his helmet while Rey disposes of the trash through an incineration shaft. After the floor is clear of bodies and parts, she begins to remove her clothing as well; it has been stained during her training.

Rey’s body is without flaw. It is so odd to think that Kylo himself has never marked her. The slice on her arm from Snoke’s guards, the scars on her chest from the Master’s lightning—these are gone. She was self-conscious about those, and the med-droids repaired them as seamlessly as Kylo’s face. 

What Kylo thinks of now are the invisible changes. The ones that have her pushing him to his back on their small cot. 

The Master sensed his hesitation when Kylo at last carried her from the field of their battle. Kylo wanted to shelter her, care for her, wrap his body around hers and keep her safe. 

“The Sith have never hidden from their passions,” Palpatine proclaimed, pleased at his victory over the Last Jedi. “You are each other’s reward for your service to the Force. I can see her deepest emotions. She wants you as desperately as you crave her. You are a matched set. You are only whole together.”

And the Master is wise. Since turning, Rey has not expressed a single doubt about their purpose. She loves him. She loves the Dark in him. She loves what he has taught her.

As her eyes glitter at him, the color of molten gold, Kylo longs for that certitude.

“How long has it been since you slept?” she asks him solicitously. 

He needs little sleep. He feels vulnerable there, catches only a few hours at a time. The Force makes him strong.

And he feels the need to watch over Rey. She has nightmares. She weeps and tosses in her sleep, cries out in terror. She can never recall the reason when she awakes, and is only resentful when she finds herself sobbing into his chest. He can’t leave her, though. 

He is the one who brought her here. She turned because of him. 

She is stronger than him now. Perhaps not in a fight—Kylo refuses to test that, has not lit his sword against her since the moment she fell—but she is stronger in the Force. If there is conflict in her, Kylo cannot see it. 

“I can rest now,” he says. “There were no defenders at Mon Calamarr. The Core is ours.” 

She smiles at that. To think that he never saw her smile until she awoke in his chambers. Their chambers, now. She has what she wanted too. She is not alone. She has a place at the Master’s right hand. She has all the passion of Kylo’s heart. Of course she should smile now.

“Then we should celebrate before resting,” she tells him. “The Master’s control is nearly complete.” 

Her expression leaves no doubt as to how she means to celebrate, but he is still surprised when she sinks to her knees on the floor beside him. This act is not one that she prefers; usually she takes him on his back, her fingernails cutting into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. He has never marred her body, but his shoulders are a map of fading weals from her teeth and claws. 

Kylo obediently undoes the catches in his tunic and tosses it aside while she unwraps his belt. She finds his hesitation unworthy of their relationship and will correct him accordingly if he does not respond to her caresses. 

She was patient with him only once, the first time. She understood his tears and the way his chest and hands shook when she touched him. 

“We waited too long for this,” she told him sympathetically. “Luke, Snoke, all those failed implements of the Force. “They kept us apart, when we should have always been together.” 

Since that time, though, she has rejected his wet eyes and soft hands as weaknesses. They are strong together, she says, the strongest pair of Force users the Galaxy has ever seen. And so now she rides him without mercy while he closes his eyes and imagines cold stars and the silence of hyperspace. 

Today, though, her touch is deft and painless as she draws his cock out of his trousers and moves her shoulders between his spread knees. She does not say anything about how he is not quite hard—he has been awake for perhaps two standard days, he has excuses—but instead presses delicate kisses along his shaft as he finally allows his hands to relax at his sides. 

Rey’s lips are warm and wet when they encircle the head of his cock. He sighs, reaching out to stroke the soft brown wings of her hair. It is beautiful and shining where she has it caught up in twists. It is the only part of her that hasn’t changed. 

Why did he think that? She is what she was always meant to be. 

She has a few flecks of blood at her left temple, below the hairline. The blood isn’t hers. 

Rey runs the tip of her tongue in a circle around the head of his cock and his breath catches. He can feel the upward quirk of her lips against the underside of his shaft. She has more power over him during this act than when she has her hand across his throat, perhaps she realizes that. The swipe of her tongue and the implied danger of her teeth keep him still when what he wants is to buck his hips and thrust into the welcoming glide of her mouth. 

He swelling and hard now in her mouth, grunting every time her lips pull off him. She has found a rhythm she likes now, but it involves losing the suction of her mouth at the end of every stroke. It’s a sweet torment every time the cold air of his chambers strikes the sensitive, wet head of his cock. 

He moves to cup his own balls, encircle the base of his shaft with his thumb and forefinger. As weary as he is, he doesn’t think he can make this last very long, and Rey becomes…displeased…if he comes where he is not supposed to. She wants a child and is unimpressed with his reluctance to create one. 

“You grew up with the Dark,” she tells him. “You were never alone. You always knew your place in the Master’s plan.”

And that is true. The Master has always been with him. The only thing he has ever lacked is Rey, and now he has her. 

Today, though, she brushes his hands aside and replaces them with her own. She is so very pleased that the Core Worlds have surrendered without a fight. It proves the rightness of their cause. The entire Galaxy has seen them together, hand in hand. The Last Jedi and the Jedi-Killer, uniting their powers under the Master’s auspices.

Rey curls her fist around him, her lips crashing against her hand with every movement of her mouth. He can feel the cum rising in his balls, the pressure in his lower back tightening. 

“Rey,” he says, and he is disappointed to feel the tears beginning to leak from his eyes again. Her own eyes are closed as she works him, mouth and hands focused on his pleasure. She won’t see his tears. She won’t fall asleep angry with him again. That thought is enough to set off his release, and pleasure racks his body. Rey doesn’t stop as his semen fills her mouth, but continues to suck at him as his body shakes and spends. Only when his cock is softening and Kylo is shifting his hips away does she open her bright shining eyes to look up at him. 

“You’re everything to me,” he tells her honestly. “Everything.” He cups her swollen jaw, and she turns her face into it, purring like a Loth cat. 

She tucks him away neatly and climbs into his outstretched arms. Their bed is very small. It’s the same one he’s always had. But there’s no reason to change it; Rey claims an inability to sleep unless the white noise of his heartbeat is filling her ears.

Today sleep finds her very quickly. She is unconscious in his arms within moments, her face sticky against his bare chest with saliva and semen. 

Kylo wishes he could sleep. He wishes that he could understand the disappointment that filled him when the _Finalizer _slipped out of hyperspace to find no defenders awaiting it. Perhaps he was just spoiling for a fight. Perhaps that is it. 

He lets his awareness spread through the Force. There are over 8000 souls on this destroyer. There is only one other Force-sensitive aboard, and she is asleep in his arms. It is quiet. The Stormtroopers are, by and large, relieved that they will not have to fight. No more of them will die today, unless Lady Ren awakens and seeks out more ‘training.’ 

His powers have only grown, and so he reaches to down to the planet. Mon Calamarr is quiet and still as well; their hopes rested in Rey, and died when they saw her stand at his side, black cape floating in the soft wind. There will be no resistance at planetfall. 

The entire Galaxy is falling silent. World after world hears of the return of the Master and his red-armored troops. They hear of the Jedi and the Jedi-Killer united under his banner. Of unimaginable powers sweeping out of the unknown regions. 

Kylo does something he has not done in many, many years. He reaches out further. There is only one soul who has known him for longer than the Master. Who knew him first. One single, solitary spark of light in all the flat black night of the Force. One mind that he could find even if he were dying.

“Mother,” Kylo whispers through the Force. “Please help us. You’re our only hope.” 


	2. Last Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey is still crying.

Группа крови - на рукаве,

Мой порядковый номер - на рукаве,

Пожелай мне удачи в бою, пожелай мне:

Не остаться в этой траве, Не остаться в этой траве.

Пожелай мне удачи, пожелай мне удачи

* * *

It’s over now. It’s done. They won.

The air is thick, oppressive with the scent of smoke and blood and ozone, but it is still now, at least. Force lightning no longer crackles through the air. Blaster fire no longer cuts down Resistance and First Order troops alike. It is quiet.

Because it’s over. 

Finn can see many of his comrades holstering their weapons and straightening their shoulders. People are beginning to bind their wounds and call out the names of their friends. It’s over, and they should be relieved. They made it. They did it. They won. Palpatine’s visage no longer haunts the sky. 

It doesn’t feel over. It doesn’t feel like a victory.

Maybe because Rey is still crying.

Finn has always thought, will always think that she’s beautiful. That hasn’t changed. But the noises she is making over the body of the Supreme Leader are unlovely. Her shoulders are heaving, and the hoarse, animal sobs echoing through her narrow body are the loudest sound on the battlefield.

Phasma might have taught him hate, but Kylo Ren taught him anger. Finn’s never been as angry at another person as he was at Kylo Ren. Finn spent his entire life without any choices whatsoever. Kylo had every opportunity in the world to be a better person—a person like _Rey_\--and he chose wrong, every single time. Every time until the last one. 

Finn doesn’t really know what happened. The Force happened. Kylo was Palpatine, and Palpatine was Kylo, right until Kylo begged for Rey’s blade. And Rey gave it to him. Right through his black heart. 

It was what they have been trying to do since Starkiller, right? Finn’s taken every shot he ever had against the guy, and he thought Rey had too. 

But Rey is still crying. 

Finn hears Poe muttering about needing a drink, and that sounds tempting right now--real tempting—but Finn can tell the man is talking about the kind of drinking they’ve been doing, the kind that involves a big bottle of who knows what and the quiet search for oblivion. Shouldn’t they be celebrating? Finn’s not so naïve as to think the First Order will dissolve the next day, but he’s seen all the principals cut down on this day, and it would be reasonable to think the Rebellion will keep up its momentum.

If its leader weren’t sobbing over the lifeless body of her enemy, wailing like her heart was broken.

And damn him if the Wookie isn’t joining her, his big, furry arm wrapping around her shoulders in a gentle attempt to pull her away from the Jedi-killer’s body. Finn’s heard that Chewbacca changed the man’s diapers as a baby, but he didn’t scruple to shoot him down after he turned. Can one selfless gesture erase all that? 

Finn has a hard time contemplating service as the host of an immortal Sith spirit, but it doesn’t sound comfortable. Rey put the man out of his misery, as far as he’s concerned. Kylo Ren was a menace to the galaxy and an embarrassment to his parents’ memory. 

But Finn wishes now that there was some way to help Rey stop crying. 

He can’t tell what happened; the Wookie hasn’t been able to convince her to let go of his arm, the sky is still clear, the air is still quiet and thick, and the combatants have begun to move away from the battlefield. But there is something happening that raises the hair on the back of his neck and forearms. Something making his stomach churn.

Rey is standing, and Finn no longer feels like they won. 

She looks over at him, and Finn can swear that she makes some expression when they lock eyes. Sadness, maybe. Or resignation. But it’s the golden gleam in them that makes Finn shiver.

“I know how to bring him back,” Rey says, and Finn is afraid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My blood type is marked on my sleeve,   
My ordinal number is marked on my sleeve,   
Wish me luck in the fight,   
So I don't stay here in the grass   
Wish me luck.
> 
> -Kino


	3. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben lives.

Ben Solo was born screaming both times. Infantile amnesia saves us all from what we would never wish to remember; mothers give a sanitized version after they forget most of what occurred. The newborn does not weigh in. 

He could only say, once he recovered his faculties of speech, that there was dark, and then there was light, and both hurt. 

In the moment though, he was just like a newborn; there was an unpleasant sensation, and he felt it in his ears. It took several moments before he realized that it was his own voice, wailing at the pain of it all.

He couldn’t say later whether it was actually painful, or if was only that every nerve ending was new and firing as it came online, and he could not distinguish feeling pain from the simple, unwelcome act of _feeling_. The dim light of the setting suns in his eyes, the thud of his pulse beneath his eardrums, the taste of bile in his mouth. It was the hands caught in his own that finally grounded him. Every newborn instinctively knows that it is helpless; he sought to connect.

“Breathe, Ben,” a voice begged him. He squeezed the hands tighter. 

Every sensation was so equally pressing in priority that he had not realized that the pain in his lungs was due to his failure to take a second breath.

He did so, choking a bit as he tried to make sense of having a body which required his attention and direction. Which was capable of following his instructions.

When he got his eyes in order and could look around, he found himself surrounded by strange and hostile faces. He couldn’t name a single one, but their expressions, which ranged from anger to fear to awe, had him scrabbling up, trying to make his long and wobbly legs hold his weight. 

And then there was only one face—and she held his face in her hands, blocking out his field of vision.

“You’re alright, Ben, you’re safe,” she told him desperately. 

He couldn’t remember her name any more than his own, but he knew she wouldn’t hurt him. She was the one who had been holding his hands. 

“Who…” he managed to get out. It was hardly the most pressing question. Where, what, why…those were close on in importance. But ‘who’ was a good start. 

Her face was wrinkled with concern and confusion. 

He swallowed hard and tried again. “Who am I?” he said, his voice coming out in a hoarse croak. He had two minutes of life accessible in his memory, and nothing else to anchor them on. 

“You are Ben Solo,” she said firmly, before glaring around her as though to challenge any of the staring beings to refute that statement. Her thumbs stroked his cheekbones. “And I’m Rey. You’re going to be alright.” 

He had no basis to either agree or disagree, but the blasters and other weapons still brandished in his general direction made him extremely nervous. Rey seemed to recognize their position by following his gaze and snapped at the others to disperse. There was some push back on her command. 

“It’s just Ben,” she said to one of the men with blasters. “Can’t you tell?”

Ben himself wondered how she could be so certain when he was not himself. 

He had his balance back before Rey turned to him again, but he didn’t object when she put her shoulder under his arm. He had to weigh twice what she did, but she seemed to think she could carry him off if he didn’t walk, and maybe she could. 

“I’ll take care of you,” she muttered, more to herself than him. 

Ben didn’t know where he was; a ship, he thought. He was someone who knew ships. His feet measured the turns of corridors before his mind did; perhaps it was his ship. His hand knew enough to palm the strip on the inside wall of the chamber Rey led him to and turn on the lights.

The furnishings within were unrelieved black, but when Ben looked down, that’s what he was wearing as well. He ran a hand over his front, then frowned when his hand came back sticky and red with blood. He startled violently. Instantly, Rey was holding him again. 

“Easy, easy,” she said, as though she were soothing a wild animal. 

“Wh-whose blood is it?” he stuttered. 

“Yours,” Rey said into his shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Ben trembled. He wasn’t in pain any longer, but he wondered if he were in shock, walking wounded. He pushed Rey away and fumbled and fumbled at the fabric of his tunic. The whole thing was torn and sticky with gore. Rey watched him for a moment, then batted his hands away and undid the catches, helping him pull off the padded jacket and undershirt. When the ruined clothing was in scraps at his feet, Ben ran his hands down his chest in wonder. His skin was pale and soft and flawless as a child’s. Not a single wound or scar to be seen. He stared a place on the left side of his abdomen for a long time, some part of his mind screaming at him to remember. Rey eventually put her palm on that spot, covering it from view. Her fingernails were torn and ragged, dried blood in crescents along her cuticles. 

“Are you hurt?” it occurred to him to ask. However he’d come to be covered in his own blood, it couldn’t have been a pleasant experience for her either. 

She shook her head and pulled up the corners of her mouth. “Not a scratch on me,” she said, rubbing her upper arm. 

Ben covered her hand with his, cupping the smooth arc of her muscle. 

“Am I dead?” he asked her seriously. 

Her eyes were already puffy and wet, but at his latest question more liquid spilled from them. 

“No, Ben,” she said, shaking her head violently. “We both made it.” 

She gave him a real smile then, not the one she’d been forcing before, even though a hiccup cut through it. And then she pushed at him towards his washroom. Told him that he needed to get clean. He didn’t resist, but when he stood in his fresher, still clad in boots and trousers, his memory failed him again. He looked mutely at the controls, wondering when he would remember how to be alive, or if he would have to learn it at all again.

After a few minutes of silence, Rey came in again and turned on the water, wincing with him when the cold water struck their faces, playing with the controls until warm water sluiced over his body, sending rusty brown flecks of dried blood to turn in the drain. When he did nothing but tip his head back to the spout, she crouched at his feet and untied his boots. She laughed at his hairy toes, and the sound did more to warm him than the water had. 

Did they do this? Did they laugh together? Did he have a life where he made Rey laugh? Where she took care of him?

“You’re getting all wet,” he told her as she pulled at the catches of his tattered trousers. She looked down at the fabric now running transparent over her breasts and laughed again. 

“You ruin all my clothes,” she said. He started to apologize before she pulled at a buckle on her shoulder and let the wraps around her torso fall apart and uncover bare shining skin. 

She smiled up at him as she continued to undress them both. The water at the bottom of the fresher pooled around their ankles as their discarded clothing clogged the drains. 

Did they do this? Ben wondered again as he leaned forward to press a bite on the newly uncovered skin over her collarbone. The taste of her skin under his lips was salty and familiar. She moaned, and the sound made more sense to his rattled brain than the name she swore was his. 

Did they do this? His hands knew how to turn her so that she faced the spray of the water and wouldn’t get cold. His legs knew how to nudge hers apart. He looked down at his long, bare feet between her own, and he was certain that was right.

She said his name when he reached between her legs to part her cunt for his fingers. Said it again when he placed her hands against the wall and bent her forward. Cried it out when he thrust into her. 

If he never remembered what he’d done, how he came to be covered in blood and surrounded in fearful faces, it was worth it for this. 

Worth it to remember nothing but her.


End file.
